All That Bluster About the Moon


On this, the darkest day, don’t give me all that bluster about the moon how it hangs there, static and always pregnant never birthing when daylight is so brief it takes your breath away its the sliver of the year from now on waxing gibbous til summer comes in and slaps your face with freckled heat the type you can’t think about on this the darkest day of the year

so don’t tell me the moon’s just there behind the cloud with the silver lining i can’t see from here with my waxing gibbous eyes and protrusions all mind made freckles or craters the moon’s all pock-marked anyway with all the colliding she does behind the slivers of cloud

You bang on about the rarity, the scarcity, the moon’s an act of gravity a spinning sufferer a huge silver promise on this the darkest day without the sun though he was here briefly and he looked so spiky as if too busy on the other side of the night, where all the action is, you say

who knows, the dark side of the moon might just be the silver lining moon rock pockmarked freckled stretched forever so full of moon the juicy light a play on gravity because even the sun can’t make her stop throwing light around like crazy and maybe that’s the birthright you’re calling in

to swathe in colour, to trip on the banks of time the silver crack in the night as if the sky will rip open as if the silver clipped just the tip of her belly lit up like dusty fire like smoke and familiar the darkest day with the moon all amped and swollen